


Shot In The Dark

by Safiyabat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Guns, Past Sam/Amelia, Smart Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past catches up with Sam at the house he rented in Kermit, Texas.  The only problem is that he doesn't live there anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Bitter Sam!Girls Club Fanwork Challenge on tumblr. The April theme is Sam + Guns.
> 
> Supernatural and the characters from the show are not my property. I make no money from this or any other work of fan fiction.

Sam hung up the phone, amazed that his numb fingers could still function well enough to actually operate the phone. “I caught a case,” he informed his brother, standing up. “I’m heading out.” His blood seemed to be frozen in his veins and his lungs burned. How his voice reflected none of this would forever be one of the mysteries of the universe.

Dean looked up from the pile of books and files on his table. “The hell you say. We’ve already got a case, remember? Abaddon? The Wicked Bitch of the East? Or is Abaddon just not important enough to you, Sam?”

Well frankly Abaddon hadn’t been terribly important to Sam until she started stealing souls from people, it was true. Sam just didn’t care that much which demon ruled Hell as long as no one was trying to claim it should be him again. “This might be related.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Maybe it wasn’t a terribly likely scenario, but it wasn’t necessarily likely. “In the meantime I’m pretty sure that Crowley wants you here, looking for her. Right?” 

His brother snarled, but turned back to the books. It wasn’t like it was a secret that the books hadn’t changed since Sam had gotten back from Milton. And when Sam got back from Kermit – if he got back from Kermit – they wouldn’t have changed either. The diversion would be a setback, but it couldn’t be helped. He paused at the door to the library. “Be safe, Dean.” He could have phrased it differently. He could have said, “Try not to choke on your own vomit, Dean.” He could have said, “Don’t let Crowley sucker you into anything stupid while I’m gone.” Instead he said, “Be safe.” It covered all of his bases.

He stopped briefly by his room to grab his bags – it wasn’t like he ever unpacked them – and then by one of the storage rooms to grab spell components. He was going to need them. Add a handful of books that Dean didn’t even really know about and he was ready to go. Maybe he could take one of the bikes – but no, he had some kind of specialized equipment that he was going to bring with him and he knew, he just knew, that if he tried to bring the sniper rifle on a motorcycle even in a case this would be the time he actually got pulled over. He didn’t have time for getting pulled over. So – the Impala it was, yet again, and he was out the door in record time. 

The drive to Kermit via back roads, the way they usually drove, would usually take about twelve hours. Sam pushed it. He didn’t have a choice He made a phone call to Garth while he drove. “I need you to find someone for me,” he told the werewolf somewhere around Amarillo. “Two someones, actually. A couple of hunters by the names of Roy Travers and Walt Curtis kidnapped a civilian, Don Richardson, from his house in Kermit Texas last night before his wife got home from work. The dog wasn’t harmed.”

Garth sounded confused, but then again that was kind of a default state for Garth. “Uh, okay, Sam. I know Walt and Roy, kinda. I mean, we worked a case together about three years ago, it was a wendigo out in Colorado. Boy howdy, that one was a doozy! And then those two – well, they weren’t exactly the friendliest pair. Not big huggers, neither of ‘em. They could really benefit from some interactions with my yogi, you know? I think it would do ‘em good.” 

“Could be. Anyway. I need to figure out where they’ve gone. If you can find me any information it would be greatly appreciated.” 

“Aw, Sam, I mean, I’m sure they don’t need your help with this one. They’re reasonably competent fellas –“ 

“Garth! They kidnapped a civilian. From his home. The guy wasn’t possessed, okay?”

“How do you know?”

“He wouldn’t have been able to get into his house if he were. I put the wards up myself.”

Garth was quiet for a moment. “So this civilian is someone you know.”

“Not really. We met once. Look, that isn’t important now. They’re holding him hostage.” He bit back on the anger. “They will kill him – an innocent civilian – if I can’t find him. Okay? You’re the only person who can help me with this – I’ll do what I can do, but I need a starting point, okay? And if that innocent man dies, Garth – that war hero, that former POW – then his death is partly on your hands because you wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it.” He shivered. He knew he was right, he did, but he still hated how much he sounded like his father or Dean when he said things like that.

“All right, Sam. Sorry, you’re right. I’ve been out of it for a while, but I’ll see what I can dig up.” 

“All right. Thanks, Garth. And hey Garth?”

“Yeah, Sam?” “Let’s keep this between us two, okay? No need to involve Dean.” 

“Oh, now Sam –“ “He doesn’t need to know, Garth. It’s got nothing to do with him.” 

The Southerner sighed. “All right. Well, I guess it’s your call.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

He pulled into the driveway having shaved a good two hours off his drive time. Amelia met him at the door. “You look great,” he told her as Riot ran out to greet him. “How you holding up?” 

She rested her hand on her protruding abdomen. “Um, you know. Freaking out. My husband was kidnapped twelve hours ago and the assholes who did it called and said it was your fault?” 

He felt one corner of his mouth quirk up. Amelia hadn’t ever been one to cut corners. Or blunt edges. It was part of her charm, really. “Yeah. Well, you know. Most things are. Cops’ve been here already?”

“Yeah. Dusted it, did their police thing, you know. You want to come on inside?” 

He glanced around. There didn’t seem to be any good places around for a sniper to hide. “Sure. Thanks.”

He and the dog made their way to the couch, where Riot settled in with his head in Sam’s lap. Amelia disappeared into the kitchen and came back with some lemonade and some cold noodles. “Here,” she told him. “I know you probably didn’t eat on your way down here.”

He chuckled a little. “Nah. All right. So these guys, they identified themselves?” 

“Yeah. They, uh, I guess they wanted to make sure they had your attention. When they called they said to ‘make sure you tell that slippery bastard Sam Winchester that Walt and Roy aren’t going to let him escape what’s coming for him.” She sighed. “They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?” 

“Not if I can stop them,” he promised her. He wanted to reach out and offer her some comfort, to pat her shoulder or hold her hand, but he couldn’t. It was his fault that she was in this situation to begin with. He’d been the one to screw up her life. If it weren’t for him she’d have just lived in happy bliss – well, miserable ignorance – until her husband came back. “I’ve already called in some help on this. And this is… well, it’s kind of what I do.”

“Hunt down kidnappers and rescue their victims?” 

“Uh, sometimes.” He rubbed Riot’s head.

“They were looking for you, you know. They took him because they expected to find you here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “But he’s alive because they didn’t.”

“So they’re looking to kill you.” 

“Yeah.” Again, he added mentally. 

“And using Don as bait.”

“Yeah.”

“Our lives are weird.”

He snorted. “You could say that.” He pulled out his laptop. “All right. Do you have the phone number that they called you from?” 

“The cops said that they had to get a warrant before they could go searching for the phone or using its GPS,” she objected, passing her phone over. 

He shrugged. “Good thing I’m not the cops then.” He started poking at the phone company’s system, testing until he could break through seamlessly. It took him a good five minutes. “All right. Success. They used Don’s phone, which is kind of a dick move but they’re not exactly shining examples of citizenship. It looks like that phone pinged off of towers here, here and here.” He showed her the map of the county’s cell phone towers. “Unless something else drastic has changed in the past year and change, I’m pretty sure that there were three abandoned ranches in that area.”

“Good memory. Although ‘something else drastic?’ You got something you want to say to me, Winchester?” She frowned across the table at him and sipped at her own lemonade.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“You’ve got no leg to stand on, you know. You had your chance.”

“Am –“

“Look, I told you. I needed to move on, one way or another. You didn’t come back. I moved on.”

He held up a hand. “I’m not judging. I’m not blaming you. It was… right for you. And if you want this baby then I’m happy for you.” He shrugged. 

She was quiet for a moment. “So. How’s it working out, life with your brother again?” 

“It’s… you know. It’s what it is.”

“Are you regretting the choice you made?” 

He sighed and massaged his face in his hands. “No, Amelia. I’m not. If I’d come back this same crap would have happened, except it would have been worse. This way you get a husband who’s relatively stable and that no one is particularly interested in harming, you get a nice comfortable house and a great dog and a stable career and a beautiful healthy baby on the way. I could have offered you none of that. It was great being with you – incredible. But it was a dream. Reality would have caught up with me sooner or later and you’d have wound up getting hurt.” 

She blinked. “So these guys… why do they hate you so much?” 

“I… screwed up on a job.” That was a very mild way to describe starting the Apocalypse. Mild but accurate. Not a lie. “A lot of people got hurt. These guys have been trying to get payback ever since.” He sighed. “They’re not the only ones.” His phone rang. “Garth. Hey. What do you have for me?” 

“All right, there, Amigo. Well, first things first. My father in law has a couple of contacts out your way; they’re on their way to your location right now.”

“Garth, how do you even know my location?” 

“Dude, your name is right there on the lease.” 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to have to do something about that. Like, yesterday. Okay.”

“Is that where you were when Dean was in Purgatory? Is this the girl-and-a-dog thing that Dean was so worked up about?”

“Focus, Garth.” 

“Oh, right. Anyway, Manny and Neil are on their way to you. They’re going to help you out.” 

Great. Another big reveal for poor Amelia. He was inclined to say no, both because he didn’t feel that giving a crash course in the supernatural was exactly conducive to solving the problem of rescuing Don alive and because religious people had given him chills since that whole Whore of Babylon thing, but he tamped it down. He needed the help. At least they were unlikely to be huggers – Garth seemed to be the only lycanthrope afflicted with that particular condition. “Bess’ dad is sure these guys are good?” 

“He’s checked them himself after you brought our problems to light, Sam. They’re the good guys. Secondly, there’s no indication that Roy or Walt ever left town. So you should be able to find them and do your job pretty quickly. Are you sure you don’t want to get the police involved? Because kidnapping civilians is really more of a police thing than a hunter thing.”

“They’ve already killed both Dean and me once, Garth. I’m not about to let them go again.” He heard Amelia gasp.

“Well, there you go then. All right. Keep me posted, brochacho.” He might not be a big fan of Garth, but at least Garth took that kind of thing in stride. 

“Yeah. Will do.” He turned to Amelia. “Okay. Remember how you used to be curious about the life I led before we met? And I told you that you really didn’t want to know?” She’d turned several shades paler, but she nodded. “All right. Honesty hour, because it’s about to come to your doorstep.” He took a deep breath, feeling faintly nauseous. “Okay. Basically, everything you’ve ever heard of that goes bump in the night is real. Werewolves, ghosts, vampires, angels, demons – you name it, it’s probably out there. And there are some people – not a lot, but a few – who spend their lives fighting it.”

She gave a hysterical little giggle. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re one of them.”

“More or less. Some of them kind of think I… am … one of the things that go bump in the night. Depends on your definition I guess. Anyway. Roy and Walt want me dead because –“

“Because they thought they killed you once before but they just missed?” 

“Uh, no. Um, remember how I mentioned that angels are real?”

“Sure.” 

“They’re dicks. Roy and Walt did kill me. A particular angel did want me alive for a specific reason, so he just… brought me back. Lucky me.” He sighed and blinked a few times.

“Just, brought you back.”

“Yeah. If an angel is powerful enough they can do crap like that.”

“And you just happened to have attracted the attention of an angel who was that powerful. I mean, you’re pretty, Sam, but really –“ 

“Um, I was kind of… made… for him? Can we skip over this part of my life? Because it’s really kind of uncomfortable and not really germane to the discussion other than the fact that I got shot.” 

“So you’re what, immortal?”

“Oh God no. I die all the time.” He saw her gaping at him and rolled his eyes. “Wait – that’s not what I meant – look, I hate this part. I’m not immortal. I’ve died a few times. People bring me back. I wish to hell they wouldn’t but they do. Not the point. I’m just… me. Anyway. We’ve got a couple of werewolves on their way over to help with the search –“ 

“You’re joking.” 

“Uh, no. They’re friends of a… um, colleague. They’re going to help track where in that search radius Don is. It’ll be useful because they can track him by scent, you know –“ 

“But you hunt werewolves. You just said.” 

“Also dated one. Briefly.” He sighed. His relationship with Madison had been brief, but that didn’t make the pain any less. “These w- lycanthropes have learned to manage their change and they’re functionally just like anyone else in society. Not every hunter sees things in black and white. Anyway, Roy and Walt aren’t expecting lycanthropes, because they’re the other kind of hunter.”

“But what about Don?” She stopped herself. “Why am I even having this conversation?”

He sighed. “This is why I hate trying to explain things – the whole hunting thing – to people who haven’t had an encounter with the supernatural. It doesn’t work. They don’t want to know, they can’t grasp it because they haven’t seen it.” 

“Fine. Summon a demon. In here, right now.” 

He scoffed. “No.”

“Why not?” 

“First of all, because demons don’t exactly make great dinner companions. Well, most don’t,” he qualified.

“What, did you date one of those too?” He grimaced. “Seriously, Sam?” 

“Look. You can hate me for my poor life choices when we’ve gotten Don back, okay? As it is, she made me feel good at a time when no one else could.” He remembered Ruby’s shock and horror when she saw him after Dean’s forced detox. That, at least, hadn’t been feigned. “Anyway, we can’t summon a demon into this house because while I was fixing it up I put up so many wards and devil’s traps that a demon couldn’t get through the front door.” 

“You’re delusional.”

“Whatever. I’m still your best chance for getting Don back alive.” He sat down at the laptop again and started paging through satellite imagery, trying to find the most likely of the three old ranches to be the hiding place for the kidnappers. The old Bolan place he dismissed out of hand. The only structures still standing were the barn and the chicken coop. Both of them could only be called “standing” as a matter of generosity; the barn itself was actually roofless and stood at a forty-five degree angle. The last time he’d been here the angle had been twenty degrees. The thing must be held up with spit and hope, he thought privately. That left the Adams place and the Marmol place. Of the two, the Adams place looked more likely. It was in better condition, with more buildings that looked like they could reasonably be expected to keep people hidden from view. Plus it was further off the street. 

Riot tensed. Sam rose, pulling his gun from his back holster. Not that it was loaded for wolf, of course, but not every visitor was going to be expected and even a werewolf would be slowed down by a shot to the knee. Riot whimpered. That was usually a sign. He peered through the window. Two figures approached – one about five foot seven and swarthy, one about six feet tall and black. He opened the door a crack. “You Sam?” the shorter one wanted to know.

“Maybe.”

“We’re Manny and Neil. Garth sent us.” 

Sam opened the door and the werewolves entered. “Thanks for coming out, guys,” he said, shaking their hands. “I really appreciate it. This is Amelia, she’s the vic’s wife. Amelia, these are Manny and Neil. They’re lycanthropes.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Sam –“ 

“Amelia doesn’t believe in the supernatural,” he continued quickly. 

Neil, the taller of the pair, just grinned. As he did his eyes changed. His fangs extended, and his claws grew, Amelia backed up a step and Riot cried. “Oh,” the veterinarian said quietly, holding the collar of her shirt closer together as though it was some kind of protection. “Okay.” Neil let himself return to normal. 

“Okay. So, I’ve narrowed it down to the old Adams place off of 302 there.” He turned the laptop to show them the satellite images of the place. “My money’s on the house or on the silo, there.” He indicated the building. “From what I remember – and it’s been over a year since I’ve been in these parts – those are the two most structurally sound places and the ones least likely to attract attention from the street. “

Neil nodded. “Makes good sense. What do you need us for? Sounds like you’ve got more of a clue than the cops do.” Sam could have listened to his deep voice all day. He wasn’t a local, either. He came from up north somewhere, probably Boston. 

“Just because it’s the most likely doesn’t mean it’s the one they picked. Walt’s usually the brains of the operation but if he had Roy pick the spot, or if the place wasn’t viable for some reason, he might pick someplace else. The three of us can rule the place out faster than one of me can, especially given your abilities.” 

“Good point.” Manny grinned. “Ma’am, do you have something that belongs to your husband? Like a piece of dirty laundry or something?” 

She started. “Oh – yeah. Sure. Let me just –“ She scurried for the bedroom. 

It had been Sam’s bedroom too, for all of what, a week?

He shoved that thought into a box. It wasn’t productive. He couldn’t let it linger. “Okay. You guys want guns? I’m never sure – I’ve never gone in with lycanthropes before.”

“No, we usually come with our own weapons,” Neil replied easily. “But thanks.” 

Amelia returned with a wadded up gray tee shirt. “Will this work?” she wanted to know. “Perfect,” Manny told her, taking a deep sniff before passing it off to Neil.

Sam pored through his weapons bag. He found hollow-point rounds for the gun at the small of his back and changed out what had previously been loaded. He grabbed the two Taurus’ that went in the shoulder holsters, just in case. He usually didn’t bother with the shoulder holsters but today – well, today was special. He cleaned up his laptop and his bag. “All right. Let’s head out.” 

“Hold up, hot shot. I’m coming with you.” Amelia blocked the door, arms crossed across her chest.

“Amelia, you’re six months pregnant. You’re in no condition to be going up against two guys who are basically professional killers. Remember – they got me and Dean once, and we’re pretty damn good at what we do.” 

“I’m coming with you,” she reiterated. “There’s no saying that they don’t have a local accomplice. You think I want to be a sitting duck here in the house just waiting for them? Hell no. I’m coming with you and I’m getting my husband back. Now give me a goddamn gun.” 

He sighed. “Fine. You got a vest?” 

“What?”

“Don sells supplies to law enforcement. That means you’ve probably got some inventory lying around here –“

“How do you even know that?”

“Did you really think that I was going to leave without knowing that you were safe, Amelia? Go get a vest. You can come with, but only if you wear the vest. I’m not risking you and your baby any more than I have to.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And you have your own gun. I know you do. I gave it to you, remember?” He frowned. “Are you even supposed to be handling guns right now? I thought I read something about lead toxicity concerns –“

“That’s over the long term. I’m pretty sure an emergency situation is covered. You can load it for me if you’re so concerned,” she sneered, moving toward the garage.

Manny turned to him as soon as she was out of earshot. “We gonna ditch her, man?”

Sam thought about it for half a second. “No,” he finally decided. “She knows where we’re going and she’d have half the police force there in a heartbeat. Besides, the way she drives she’d probably beat us there anyway. At least this way we know where she is. She’s actually a damn fine shot too, not that I want her anywhere near the action.” 

Amelia returned with several vests, a box of ammunition and a fresh smirk. Sam loaded the Browning for her quickly, admiring the weapon’s condition as he did so. “We all know how to keep a weapon in shape, Sam,” she told him. “You’re not the only one who knows his way around a gun.

He felt his cheeks redden but let the comment slide. “Let’s move out,” he commented. The drive out to the old abandoned ranch happened in silence. They parked about a quarter mile away just like Dad had taught them – the Impala’s engine was distinctive, too much so for any kind of stealth short of walking. Amelia was to be left in the car – Sam wasn’t exactly thrilled about that but the Impala was warded about as heavily as the house, and she had her gun. He left her with an angel blade too just in case, and all team members had open Bluetooth connections between their phones on a conference call just in case. With that the trio moved out. 

As they approached the buildings they split up. Manny peeled off toward the house. Neil headed off toward the old barn. That left the silo for Sam. The hunter looked at the old structure. Once painted a cheery blue and white it now had some extra-folksy polka dots on it in the form of rusting rivets. The ladder, though – that was still solid, and seemed to be in a position to hold his weight. He remembered a hunt like this once, when he’d been about fourteen and they’d been looking for something else. Witches, maybe? Of course his fourteen-year-old self had been a lot smaller than his thirty-year-old self, but he also hadn’t had quite so much time to get used to his size either. Assuming that the rafters inside were still sound he should be okay. He climbed slowly, carefully up the rungs, making no noise against the side of the structure.

“House is clear,” Manny reported when Sam got to the top.

“Regroup near the silo,” Sam whispered into the mouthpiece of his headset. 

The bay door was partly open. It was probably enough for him to squeeze through. The question was whether or not there would be something for him to squeeze onto. He groped a hand out and almost laughed with glee. Apparently this was one of the few silos that had been built with a platform. More modern, industrial silos wouldn’t have been but this one clearly expected that someone would actually want to enter and stand up. Sam inched through the door and crouched down, looking down on the scene before him.

“I’ve got a vehicle in the barn, traces of the victim,” Neil reported in that deep, melodious voice. “No visual.” 

“I’ve got visual,” Sam whispered. “Suspects are heavily armed. Regroup outside the silo. Do not enter until backup is requested.” 

Down three stories he could see his quarry. Don had been tied to a chair. He looked like he’d tried to resist at some point – probably various points given the different states of bruising on his face, although that could have been just the distance or the bad lighting. He also looked like he was in a state of semi-consciousness. Walt and Roy had both aged. He should have expected that, it had been a few years and they weren’t exactly in a profession that was known for being kind to a guy’s appearance. Roy had a couple of new ugly scars on his face and Walt was walking with a distinct hitch in his step, probably didn’t even consciously realize he was doing it. He could see, too, the visible lines of fatigue on their faces. “Think they’ll come?” Roy asked. 

“Little Sammy’s got some kind of connection to these two,” Walt spat. “The bitch’ll call when they get here. And when they do we’ll be ready for them. I don’t know how they escaped last time – I mean, we sat there and we checked. But it don’t matter. This time, the heads come off the bodies and we salt and burn ‘em ourselves. It’s the only way to be sure.” 

“What about this guy here? Or the bitch? They know who we are.” Roy bit his lip.

“Collateral damage. Can’t be helped.” 

“I still don’t know about this, Walt. I mean, Sam, sure. But Dean? He stopped the Apocalypse, man. Saved the world. There ain’t no reason to be snuffing him too, man. He’s a good man, I’m sure he’ll see reason.” Roy stood up and stretched.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. Of course Dean saved the world. Charlie believed it too. Why wouldn’t anyone else? Sam hadn’t done it for the glory. He hadn’t done it for recognition. He’d done it for redemption, and he hadn’t even gotten that. Not from the person in whose eyes it mattered. He never would. So why would it matter if creeps like Roy and Walt knew? What they did or didn’t know wasn’t going to matter for very long anyway.

He felt a pang at that. He’d come in here with the clear intention to murder. It was the right thing to do. They had gone after Amelia because of him, and they weren’t going to stop. They’d killed Dean because of him. They had to go. Still, he could remember a time when he hadn’t been so blasé about the whole killing humans thing. 

“I told you before, you really want to go the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester’s on your ass?” Walt retorted with a scowl. “Think before you speak, Roy.” 

“I am thinking,” Roy groused back, picking his nose. “I’m thinking that Dean ain’t come after us in all these years. Hasn’t cared even a little bit about what we did to him, what we did to his precious little Sammy. Maybe we were wrong about him. Maybe we didn’t need to be worried about him, man.” 

Sam threw the pen into a dark shadow far away from the reaches of the lantern. The sound startled all three men – even Don’s sagging head picked up at the sound. “The hell was that?” Walt wanted to know, rising and grabbing a shotgun. Don flinched. Sam repressed a growl. 

“Probably just a rat,” Roy grunted. “I’ll check it out.” He drew a long-barreled Colt and moved away. Walt prepped his shotgun and watched with narrowed eyes that never seemed to think to look up. Sam took advantage. From this distance he should be able to hit his target if he took his time and focused. He pulled out his Taurus, aimed and squeezed the trigger. It didn’t hit exactly where he wanted – he’d been going for the hand, not the wrist, but he’d take it given the bad lighting. 

Walt gave a loud yell and doubled over, bleeding. Sam started moving before Walt’s howl even left his mouth. “Everything okay in there, Sam?” Neil wanted to know. “Heard a shot fired.”

“Just peachy,” he grunted, running down the stairs provided by the builder and hoping that they held. Roy wasn’t exactly stupid – he ran closer to the stairs but stopped and let his eyes adjust to the lighting before firing his own weapon. Sam managed to dodge, the bullet creating a spark as it ricocheted off the soft metal. Sam returned fire, also missing. 

Roy fired again. This time a bullet grazed Sam’s arm. He barely felt it between the adrenaline and the rage and the focus. These guys had gone after Amelia. They’d killed Dean.

“I think it’s – is that Sammy Winchester?” Roy called.

“It’s Sam,” Sam grunted as he pulled the trigger again. This time the bullet hit home, square between Roy’s eyes. The hunter dropped like a stone.

“Where’s your brother, Sammy?” Walt sneered. His injured arm hung limp at his side, still bleeding. He’d discarded the shotgun that he couldn’t fire anyway in favor of a big, heavy Glock. Sam considered the weapon. Clearly it was Walt’s off hand. On the one hand, who knew how well Walt could shoot with his off hand? On the other, a bullet that large in caliber could do a lot of damage even if it didn’t hit the target it intended. “He up in the rafters?”

“Nope. It’s just you and me here, Walt.” He indicated Don, who watched through wide eyes that only seemed half aware of what was going on. “Let Don go. I’m the one you want. This has nothing to do with him, he’s just some guy I met once who has the bad luck to live in the house I used to rent.”

“You think I’m really going to let him go when he can tell Dean who snuffed you?” 

Sam privately thought that Walt had a lot of nerve making assumptions about outcomes when he was the one who’d been shot through the wrist of his shooting hand, but he’d seen people overcome worse. “Dean’s not going to care, man. Dean’s got his own problems, he truly does not care where the freak’s gone.” 

His enemy snorted. “Finally wised up, huh?” 

“I guess.” He muted his phone. 

“Why don’t I believe you? Oh, right. Because you’re the one who thought it would be a great idea to let Lucifer out of the box.” He fired. 

Sam dodged. He had no idea how he was able to dodge that one but he was. He was on Walt in a second, tackling him to the floor. With a snarl, he aimed his gun down at the kidnapper’s other wrist and pulled the trigger, incapacitating his other hand and making it impossible for him to fire again. Walt screamed. “Any last words, Walt?”

“Why do you just not stay dead? We sent you to Hell before!”

He gave a dark little laugh. “Actually, Walt, you sent me to Heaven. I’ll probably never forgive you for that. The thing is, though, Heaven’s closed for business. I’m in a position to know. Now, if you were headed to Heaven you’d just be stuck in the Veil. Forever. But I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be an issue for you, Walt. I’m pretty sure I know exactly where you’re going.” He stepped back and shot three times, just to be sure. He only needed to have shot once, but certainty never hurt anyone.

He unmuted his phone and spoke to the others. “It’s over. Manny, Neil, I could use your help with Don. He’s in rough shape.” 

He used his hunting knife to cut his erstwhile rival’s ropes and caught him when he sagged forward. The werewolves surged through the door as Amelia demanded, “Is he going to make it? Can I bring the car up?” 

They took the hurt man from him so Sam could tend to his own injury and police his brass. “Yeah,” Manny informed her. “Yeah, go ahead and bring the car up. He’s dehydrated and beat up, but I think he’ll be okay eventually.”

“Oh thank god.” Her connection cut out. 

Sam allowed himself a momentary pang of jealousy. Had anyone really felt that kind of anxiety for him? Jess, maybe. Everyone else had an agenda. Even Dean. Then he boxed that up. If he’d deserved it maybe someone would have felt that way. All he did was get people hurt. Amelia wouldn’t have had to get so anxious about Don, not so soon after having lost him for what she thought was forever, if she hadn’t been involved with him. He tore a strip from Walt’s flannel and tied it around his arm as a makeshift bandage before he started hauling his corpse over to Roy’s.

“What are you doing?” Manny demanded. 

“Cleaning us out of the scene,” he replied. “But we have to salt and burn the bodies. Otherwise we risk them reanimating – gets ugly.” He gestured at the hunters’ bags. “Fortunately they left us plenty to work with.” 

He already had the fire burning by the time Amelia got the car up to the silo. Sam had a momentary chuckle at the thought of Dean’s reaction to Amelia driving the Impala but he kept it internal. Instead he let Manny and Neil help Don into the car and helped himself to the other men’s guns. The bodies burned merrily as the Impala sped away, the fire contained safely by the metal silo. 

Sam helped to usher Don into the house while the werewolves took their leave and then made his own goodbyes with as little awkwardness as possible. “I’m sorry you were put through this because of me, Amelia,” he told her at the door. “Look, you need to take my name off the lease. That’s why they came here looking for me.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She nodded. “I’m, um, I’m keeping your number though.”

“Really? I mean, why would you want that?”

“You couldn’t have stopped them from coming for you. But you dropped everything and came to help us. You didn’t have to. Thank you.” 

Sam drove off, heart heavy. He stopped at a motel in Midland just out of sheer exhaustion, stitching himself up and crashing from the sleep deprivation and adrenaline crash. When he got back to the bunker Dean didn’t ask him where he’d been and he didn’t tell. Instead, he quietly added the weaponry to their collection. If Dean ever recognized the shotgun with which he’d once been murdered he never said a word.


End file.
